Purgatory
by sulphurage
Summary: A person who has not passed through the inferno of their passions has never overcome them...
1. Purgatory

**Purgatory**

_A person who has not passed through the inferno of their passions _

_has never overcome them._

* * *

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry is Capcom's. Set in the early stages of DMC4, probably while Nero was working hard… Lady's grown up now, so let's not treat her like a little girl anymore. This is just a (fairly) explicit one-shot. You have been warned!

The door to the darkened, rundown apartment slammed open as two figures knocked clumsily against the frame, entwined in an apparent struggle. The lights from a passing car below fell on the two as jackets and pants were ripped off – the girl's marine blue hair was most visible as she landed on top, kneeling over the male whose breathing was now getting increasingly shallow. Well, it was understandable that in the presence of all her naked glory, some people would have trouble breathing. Ignoring his guttural moan, she skipped the foreplay and went straight to town.

"Come on!"

She could tell he was trying, hard, but it did nothing for her. As usual. Craning her neck, she stared at the peeling ceiling. Another car passed; this time her eyes – one crimson and the other a startling cerulean – showed a calmness that was almost unsettling. She glanced at the guy, whose good-looking face was now contorted rather painfully, before closing her eyes.

Another dimension, another time, another person…

_You want a date? Well, forget it. Because I make a point not to go out with women who shoot me in the head!_

That single thought wore her patience out completely. Pushing off his shoulders, Lady somersaulted off the bed, landing nimbly before walking to the window. A gust of wind cold enough to make her feel something blew in from outside. Stone-cold gravel streets, neighbors in their darkened rooms, bolted doors, dead streetlights. She was on her way to saving just enough to get out of his hell-hole – the mansion was going to be magnificent, but her heart was somehow with this rundown shack…

"What's wrong babe?" His voice dropped several octaves. Her muscles twitched. _"And who's Dante?_ Why do you keep shouting that name? I told you I'm Bob!_"_

Throwing her arms back to stretch, Lady gazed up at the sky. A starless night. How fitting. Look up a dictionary for a definition of her life and it would just say: Bittersweet irony.

"He's someone whose name you shouldn't even speak."

Behind her, she could hear skin splitting apart, muscles growing, limbs extending and undoubtedly, a grotesque shadow thrown on the wall as light from another car flashed by.

She snorted. "About time."

She snatched the machine pistol from the table nearby, whirling around and pumping out countless bullets as the demon lunged towards her. _Poor Bob. _His thick blond hair was balding now, reptilian skin an ugly mass of brown, moss green and toxic orange. And there were probably five, six limbs but she had no time for details. Its tongue was flailing in mid-air – Lady crouched down, leaning against the wall below the window as the bullets continued to fly. With immaculate timing, her fingers caught hold of that tongue – moments before it had been exploring the area below her belly, but that no longer mattered now – and using its own momentum, directed it towards the window. As the demon passed overhead she gave it a solid kick so that it could break the window frame for a clear exit. Her finger didn't let go of the trigger even when the demon was already out in the open.

Lady was satisfied with that her jujitsu training was paying off – immersing herself in martial arts and meditation made her feel almost superhuman, and it filled her time schedule when jobs were slow. She'd never actually seen a demon thrashing in the air, bullet-ridden, and with a pink condom still attached. It was a peculiar sight. Lady shook her head, replaying the scene where she'd managed to get the contraceptive device on in a blink of an eye before things got out of hand. Fast fingers and reflexes were good skills to have.

Crossing the darkened room, she picked up the random bits of clothing that were lying around. She stopped in the middle of it, taking in the familiar smell of gunpowder. Her room was extremely sparse – a queen-sized bed with white linen, a wardrobe, a dressing table. OK, maybe not that sparse, since the remaining perimeter was lined with stockpiles of ammo, guns and knives. A spider about the size of her hand scuttled across the ceiling. Maybe it would be a better idea to clean the room instead of having random flings.

She'd grown up considerably in the last few years, after the demise of her last blood-related relative. Suddenly she was free to do whatever she liked: demon-hunting. Adrenaline, fun, thrill… and it was _always _better than sex. At least so far. Sure she had thought about going for the real thing, but her ego was holding her back. They were friends, so why repair something that wasn't spoilt?

Lady picked up her white jacket, running her thumb over an embroidered collar. The new outfit got reactions, no doubt about it. She liked it; it was a definite step-up from the plain shirt she threw on back in… Her thoughts froze. That chapter's closed.

_I will only look forward._

Just when she reached the entrance, the door creaked.

Lady dropped the clothes but kept the gun up. "Round two eh?"

"Whoa-"

It was an unexpected visitor. The tall, strapping man with a ridiculously elaborate coat was staring into the barrel of her gun, but the second his ice blue eyes began slipping down, she pulled the trigger. Repeatedly.

To her surprise, Dante slumped down against the wall in the corridor, head bowed. Lady glanced at her new custom-made gun, impressed. It was working better than she'd expected; she could control it with a single hand now and close-range hits seemed extremely effective. Striding back in, she threw on a robe while wondering if using '_speak of the devil' _to describe the situation was too much of a cliché. Returning outside, she'd expected to see him awake. Instead, blood was dripping down his cheek. Against better judgment, Lady bent over, brushing his ivory strands away to survey the damage.

A pair of cool blue eyes stared back at her, complete with a smirk.

"_Boo._"

Before she could react, he leapt up and hoisted her over his shoulder, storming into the room. She tried kneeing him in the chest, but by then she was already on the bed, arms spread-eagled with his hands holding her wrists down. Her legs were immobile: his knees were pushing her calves down. His face was directly above hers and blood was dripping from his chin onto her robe.

"Tell me if you like it this way," he said, leering. "I welcome creativity."

"_Bastard!!_" Lady screamed, her fury exploding past boiling point. She struggled to get out of his hold, but it was impossible. His strength was overwhelming and she knew no matter how hard she trained, her physical capabilities remained limited. "What the hell are you doing? Do you know this is sexual harassment bordering on rape?! Let me go!"

Wearing an uncharacteristically serious expression, Dante shook his head calmly.

"I won't do anything unless you want me to," he said, quietly.

Then he paused.

"_Do you_?"

She glared up at him, furious that she was being subjugated to this and feeling even worse that it was what she'd wanted – being alone with him. Just not her ideal position. But damn it, her body was responding to him the only way it knew how. She turned away, pissed off. The words that left her lips next shocked her as well:

"Don't think that just 'cause you can't find another demon slut, you can barge in here for a free fuck." But they expressed her emotions perfectly.

His reaction was placid: "You're different."

She glared back at him. Dante gazed out at the sky.

"I've met countless women from this world and the next. But few leave an impression like you do. What with the angst and all. But I'll admit you're damn impressive."

Lady rolled her eyes.

"If you're here to confess that I'm the love of your life, then you've got a thing or two to learn about respecting women and coming up with original lines!"

He looked confused for a second, then irritated. "If I let you go, you'd keep shooting me and we won't have a serious conversation!"

"Since when were you capable of serious conversation? And as a matter of a fact I want to pump bullets into your skull now!" she shouted back, wondering why it was always either an argument or a fight when they got up close. "Why the hell are you here? Just spit it out and leave!"

A blank look crossed his face. "Actually, I trashed Devil May Cry and now I have no place to stay. Trish left on one of her random trips and –" He stopped, noticing her widened eyes. He'd thought the red/blue iris colors were incredibly stunning, first time he saw her.

She couldn't believe her ears.

"Let you stay here?!" She was getting hysterical. "STAY HERE? WHAT DO YOU THINK I'LL SAY, DANTE?"

"Stop shouting, woman" he said, rearing back. "OK, another reason is that I don't want you to come on the next mission. It's mine, so I'll take it."

"I wouldn't miss the chance to see your brother again," Lady replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "He's got _style."_

"You're human, Lady," he said suddenly. She realized this was the same thing she kept saying to him, just reversed. His face was turned away, and in the darkness she couldn't really make out his expression. "It's not going to be easy this time. Like it or not, your time's running out."

"So's yours, smart-ass," she replied easily. "Even half-demons die."

"If you took the attacks I did, you'd be in the next world already."

It was a fact. But her ego spoke up; she was unwilling to lose the argument.

"But I didn't. And I'm not afraid to die. "

Below, another car passed by, throwing light on his face. The tenderness in his expression almost made her heart stop.

"I do; I fear your death," Dante said. "You showed me the road to redemption. With you I feel… normal… _Human._"

His attacks just kept getting better, didn't they?

"The things you'd say just to get laid; it's really amazing. I'm going with you, whether you like it or not. If I die, leave me and move on. I expect you to do it anyway."

He frowned at her, before sighing deeply.

"Am I really such a jerk to you?" he asked. "I can't even remember how many times I've saved your life."

"You're a demon, Dante." She said it as though it explained the meaning of life. The reality was that she was running out of ammo against possibly the only man in her world who could kill fear and make darkness bearable. What was really, truly frightening was how much good he had in him.

_"The age-old refrain lives!"_ Dante exclaimed, exasperated. "If me being a demon is a problem then what was that thing I saw outside your window? I thought you would have to be _really_ desperate to date a demon… or is sex a whole different ballgame?"

The floodgates were open now. She didn't know what to say, except:

"If you're so curious, why don't you find out?"

Silence.

His breath was on her face now; she gritted her teeth when his lips followed the tear trail down her cheek. Upon reaching her mouth, he went in for a heated kiss. She took up the challenge with no hesitation. It was like emotional cleansing, a purifying from fear, anger, hate, frustration... and better than she'd imagined. He withdrew slightly from her sudden aggression with a quick gasp and some pointless comment that she didn't hear, unconsciously relaxing his hold.

She sensed the loss in control like a predator whose timing was split-second perfect.

Maneuvering her lithe legs out beneath him, Lady flipped him over into a hold, straddling him across the stomach. From an unfamiliar vantage point, Dante's eyes were transparent but blazing with emotion – lust, love, whatever -- and his blood-stained lips were curved upwards in that familiar smirk. His hands found the bow on her robe, loosening it as he forcefully pulled her down. They met in an embrace fiercer than before. Violence and tenderness made an odd couple.

So he wasn't hers exclusively; how could something so beautiful be? It was OK, the world wasn't going to end, yet. She was on top of it, and she was going to take it all. This time she was the hunter, the one with the power, the one exploring relentlessly.

Something seemed to implode within her as she let things get _way _out of hand.

_So… maybe demon-hunting isn't that fantastic…_


	2. Unfinished

**2: Unfinished**

"One's past is what one is..." - Oscar Wilde

* * *

In the dark, all she could feel was pain.

The Kalina Ann, strapped across her shoulder, felt heavier than usual. The air outside was clean, the fresh smell of dew only dawn could bring. The skies were a deep marine blue, spanning far beyond her eyes would allow her to see. Demons are pure evil, plain and simple. She had been convinced, once, that this was the law. But the man currently lying between her sheets had broken that rule. Back at Temen-ni-gru, he was a new-found travelling partner with a family feud like her. Then he became friend whose contact she kept by exploiting his legendary demon-hunting prowess for her own monetary gain. As she grew older, the truth became more difficult to deny. She started doing things she could never imagine, hiding her emotions under a cloak of mercenary materialism and practicality.

She turned back, staring at the ivory-haired man. His face was hidden by a muscular bicep, and a light snore was audible in the silent room. Any woman would slip back on to the bed now, more than willingly. And undoubtedly he would welcome them. Surely he couldn't say no to the blond, the tall and exquisitely beautiful demon who resembled his mother? A demon, yes, and a woman so perfect. She was a worthy opponent in every sense. Last night had further complicated the triangle, if that was even possible.

But Lady couldn't move on with life, love, or anything else without settling the past. Her parents were both dead, the answers seemed to stop – did she really know who Kalina Ann was? Or who Arkham was before he was consumed by demonic greed? They must have loved each other once. That was what she kept telling herself, believing that her mother was an innocent victim of that tainted marriage.

Lady's fingers tightened over the knife in her hand. It felt so cold, just like the eyes of the hooded man from whom she'd bought it from. A part of her wanted to store the Devil Arm away, go back to bed and wake up to a heated argument with Dante. In the darkness he stirred, and Lady treaded silently over. Crouching down close to him, she surveyed his face. His features were so soft now that his piercing eyes were closed. Strangely, the longer she gazed at him, the more her heart felt sure. He was never going to settle; freedom was too precious a prize to lose. It would be naïve to think that they had any future together. When he woke up he would get worried and angry at her, but he would move on. He always did. She'd be happy if he managed a couple of tears. It was pure selfishness, but she had to retrieve the notebook. Without it, the missing pieces of her past would stay lost until the day she died.

_I have to know. About her. Them_. The book was a diary, and she was sure the information would give her life new meaning.

Lady leant towards him, hoping her breath on his face wouldn't wake him up. But any closer was risking it. She stopped and pursed her lips.

_Stand and go now, Mary. You need to do this. _

Heading back to the window, she ran the tip of the blade along her collarbone, lightly nicking the skin. Lady's reflection showed how the thin line of crimson on her neck started to grow exponentially. The wound deepened now, eating her from the outside. Her legs gave way, and the world disappeared.

* * *

Falling, feeling her heart palpitating in her throat… When she landed on her back, the impact took the wind out of her.

"Damn!"

The skies overhead were dark crimson, empty and acrid. Straining her abdominals, Lady sat up, glancing at her collarbone. The wound was bleeding steadily, but now it was just a minor cut. She placed her hand on the ground to steady herself, but ended up missing and stumbling down. Rolling over to break her fall, Lady handed on her feet and surveyed the floor. The demon, a bear-sized thing that resembled a komodo dragon, was writhing on the dust.

"I guess I have to say thanks," Lady said, hitching up the Kalina Ann.

Miles away, the alien presence of an intruder caught the attention of a white-haired half-demon, who motioned to the hooded minion in the shadows:

"Go."


	3. Not Lost

**3: Not lost**

"The only cure for grief is action." - G. H. Lewes

* * *

The demon sat in Dante's chair, her long legs propped upon the table resembling his favourite posture after a few pieces of pepperoni and cheese. She closed her eyes, leaning back. The office had been empty when she returned, and the chair itself felt too cold to have been slept in. Her lips formed a perfect pout as the nagging thought at the back of her mind gained momentum.

Even before he appeared, she'd heard his footsteps from a mile away, recognizing the sound of his boots on the steps leading to the Devil May Cry. When it came to him, she knew every single gesture, every look, every twitch of those impressive muscles. She could even recognize the rhythm of his breathing. She knew why his response to her was forced and lukewarm even as she could feel his pulse accelerate. Why he sometimes said no – _why would anyone – _when he would have much preferred a yes.

The demon glanced at her reflection in the dirty window glass, running her translucent eyes over an image of impeccable blond hair and flawless skin. A smile played on her crimson lips as she turned to welcome him. What she saw killed the smile and made her heart stop – there were few things in the world that had such an effect on Trish.

Ashen-faced and silent, Dante strode slowly across the pad, looking more disheveled than he usually did after fighting monsters hell-bent on mass massacre. His coat was slung over his shoulder. A short bloodied dagger was in his hand, and the empty expression he wore was something she couldn't recognize.

Had he been _crying_?

Dante slammed the dagger on the table, then leant forward and rested his arms on it. Head bowed, his face was shrouded in shadow.

Trish stood up instantly, reaching forward to touch his face.

"What happened-"

He reared back suddenly, stepping away from her. Under the overhead lamp Trish glimpsed his bloodshot eyes and trails of dried tears. He backed up to a wall and slid down, looking away from her into another dimension. It was as though he wore an invisible blanket that separated himself from the real world. She had not witnessed grief on such a level before, and coming from him the pain pierced her as well.

"Dante, please-"

A rush of blood to his head suddenly flushed his cheeks and the words came out in a shout: "She killed herself! With that thing! That stupid woman!"

Trish's glacial features flinched. He'd never shouted at her like this before. The last time such an outpour of emotion occurred she had been lying in his arms… She didn't care what happened to someone else; what bothered her was his reaction. He had come up against a problem that could not be solved by any weapon or strategy, and in an emotional war the stakes were so much higher. She glanced at the stained weapon. _Human_ blood.

"You can't blame yourself for her suicide," Trish said. The words sounded mechanical, but on some level she felt a sense of relief that Lady was finally out of the picture. That thought, however, was laced with shame when she could make out distinct pain and confusion in his eyes.

The demon-hunter took a deep breath and let it out in a frustrated sigh.

"It's a Devil's Arm. Her body was nowhere but the weapon was left."

His voice was shaking. The shadows may have hidden it, but the impact of his tears on her was more debilitating than any physical blow. Against her will, Trish surveyed the weapon. The double-sided blades were curved asymmetrically, with a thin sunken line through the middle. It was clogged with crimson. On the bronze hilt were intricate carvings of figures – she peered closer – writhing in agony.

The revelation of what it was made her do a double-take; she'd always presumed it was an alchemist's dream. She glanced at Dante. Perhaps the line between myth and truth was fainter than she assumed.

"This is the Kore dagger, it enables a human to transit between the living world and Hell. This is dark magic, and it's not really known how it works... But from what I've heard, a human can temporarily pass into Hell from a death wound using this dagger and return alive-"

"How does she get back, then?" Now those beautiful blue eyes were fired up, and his voice was no longer shaking.

"I don't know," Trish replied, folding her arms. Then she couldn't help herself: "I suppose her rightful place eventually will be Hell, so you don't have to rush."

Dante didn't answer. He threw on his coat and headed for the door.

"By the way, Nero told me that she asked to borrow Yamato. He said you had asked for it."

He froze at the door.

Trish sighed. "I'll go with you-"

"No," he said, sharply. "I may need your help here. Try to find out more about how this knife works."

Watching him kick the door down and leave, the worry within her magnified. Trish picked up the dagger, slipped Luce and Ombra into her hip satchel and headed out the back door.


	4. Heirlooms

**4: Heirlooms  
**

"_I am better able to imagine hell than heaven; it is my inheritance, I suppose"_

Elinor Wylie

* * *

She flipped onto a ledge from a nearby rock wall, spun two automatics out from their satchels. How bizarre – she had never felt more confident than she did now, in the blistering heat of hell, surrounded by demons. Lady opened fire, a faint smile on her crimson lips as she worked systematically from left to right. _It had been so comforting, doing this with him, back-to-back … _

_No - focus!_

While the rain of bullets kept the demons on the ground at bay, Lady kept her gaze warily on the hooded figures floating overhead. In spite of her self-belief, she knew that a single oversight could kill her here. The gun on her left hand went empty so she dropped it, took out two grenades and bit the safety pins off before flinging it towards the hooded ones. Using up the rest of the pistol's bullets, she released it and hoisted out an automatic shotgun from her bag, swiftly positioning it for a couple of well-aimed shots. Satisfied with the performance of her smaller firearms, the demon-hunter took out the Kalina Ann for the finishing shot – five hoods dissipated with a single blast.

Lady threw the bazooka over her shoulder and leapt lightly back onto the crimson dirt. A movement in the corner of her eye jerked her into action, but at the receiving end of a rocket blast, the tall dark figure in a dark blue hood barely wavered. It was standing at the top of a paved staircase that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"I see you've rolled your own red carpet." Its thin voice reminded her of a badly tuned violin.

Lady lowered her aim, gazing beyond the figure at the grim stone castle before her. Strange, she hadn't noticed it when she fell. Perhaps the fight had been too distracting. Yet, something told her she was at the right place.

"I'm looking for a half-demon by the name of –"

"And he is looking forward to meeting you, miss." A skeletal hand covered in peeling flesh gestured towards the large, metal front doors.

Lady hesitated for a moment, aware that this could be a point of no return. But the weight of the Kalina Ann urged her forward; whatever it was, she could take it on. She ascended the steps, ready to open fire at a heartbeat.

* * *

He could hear the din outside – gunshots, body parts falling on his carpet. So the intruder had finally arrived, alive. Vergil closed his book and replaced it on the shelf. The library's doors flung open, and a woman with short hair carrying a weapon almost as tall as her stood in the doorway.

"I know you," said Vergil, recognition settling on his stern features. His appraising gaze drifted from her face downwards, pausing at the wound on her neck, before moving up again. "Arkham's little girl. I suppose you're the appetizer before the main course arrives."

"I'm here for my father's book."

Dante's brother had the courtesy to look slightly puzzled, in spite of himself. Her red eye, the color of fresh blood, was blazing with anger. The other one, while more human, was a frosty blue. Both were narrowed.

"The one he had with him all the time. I know you have it. Give it back."

Now Vergil was frowning quizzically, but the condescension on his face did not fade. "You come all the way down here… for his book?"

The air between them seemed congealed with tension, and every breath carried a tinge of sulphur that nauseated her. Cautiously, Lady circled the library, trying to align herself to the nearest exit, but he was resolutely maintaining his position before the door.

"I am sure you didn't come empty-handed," Vergil said, a cold smile creeping across that face. _So familiar, and yet so different._ "In fact, I know you didn't."

She felt his breath against her cheek, even body warmth – she blinked – and there he was, back at his original position. But now he was withdrawing Yamato from its sheath. The weight on Lady's shoulders had reduced considerably but her heart was sinking fast. There was nothing left to wager for.

"All this, for a father who was willing to his wife _and _his daughter to attain power. And this daughter insists on preserving the family heirloom," he said, quietly. Those eyes, so similar to Dante's, were a darker blue filled with disgust. Under their glare, fear almost made her break eye contact but Lady forced herself to stare back; she would never back down.

_"Pathetic!"_

The word echoed in the library, resounding from the high ceilings. "My father left me with this-" Vergil held up the elegant katana with its beautiful white hilt. "-and jewelry imbued with great power. The very blood running through my vein holds unlimited potential. And you, what do you have? A book that is still stained by only inferior blood, the same that pumps through your heart at this very moment. You should have stayed where you belong, with your limited strength and short life expectancy, living every day the best you can, foolish girl!"

Light glinting off its edge, Yamato was suddenly cutting into the skin of her neck. Lady gasped, shocked at the otherworldly speed with which he had traversed the room to pin her against the wall. The fingers gripping her jaw, like metal spokes, were pushing her upwards. Her feet dangled several inches above the ground.

This close, she could feel his bloodlust stronger than ever. Against her will, Lady started to tremble. Every slight movement only caused the blade to sink deeper. "I wonder," he murmured slowly, locking on to the only feature on her face that reminded him of Arkham, "what Dante would do if I slit your pretty neck right now? I really want to find out."

Tears were pooling in her eyes, unbidden. Lady choked, and a single droplet ran down her cheek.

"Hm," Vergil snorted, withdrawing his blade a hair's breadth from her skin. "My brother, the heartbreaker. I wouldn't have guess-"

The split second of distraction gave her a wide enough window of time to jam a gun under his jaw.

_"Fuck off."_

A smirk spread across Vergil's face the moment Lady's index finger tightened on the trigger.

* * *

He took a slow, deep breath; the muskiness of the library had a strangely calming effect. Waiting patiently for the bullets to dislodge themselves from his jaw, Vergil gazed disdainfully down at the unconscious woman.

She had fallen from a single blow to her head, the punch effectively knocking her out cold. To his knowledge, there was only one Devil's Arm capable of transporting a human to hell. The wound on her neck, no matter how small, had sealed a contract. It would not heal, never close, until the air was free of sulphur. If she didn't return to the living world in time, she would stay in Hell for the remainder of eternity. It was no longer necessary to kill her because death was imminent.

Why not just throw her out to feed the hungry? There were more than enough mouths yearning for food, what more for _fresh human flesh?_

Kneeling down, he slipped a left arm under her back to push her upright. He was surprised at the lightness of her weight. Vergil glanced at the scars on her legs. Up-close, he could see that the human girl had grown up considerably. But she was still weak – her life could easily be extinguished in a single gust of wind. His finger grazed those rose-tinted lips, pushing them apart to reveal pure white teeth.

Temptation lay in his arms now. A cold chill ran through his core: even his father, the legendary dark knight Sparda, must have been weakened considerably in the presence of a human woman. That very same shift had occurred within him, and he had immediately resisted it. The _very _idea of cavorting with a human was so beneath him that it was an act of shame to even imagine it.

Vergil released his hold, allowing her to fall back onto the ground in a crumpled heap. She would stay until Dante arrived. Emotional collateral probably worked well on his brother.


End file.
